Huge Plane, Tiny Runway
by AmbulanceRobots
Summary: If you've read CH 12 of War Stories, you're familiar with these two. Thrust Skyhigh is forty-nine going on nineteen, and life is an adventure. Orbit Slipstream is there to make sure he doesn't kill himself in the process. Canon characters will only be mentioned in passing, if at all. This will be updated sporadically, when I get the itch. Chapters are not posted chronologically.
1. Chapter 1 - Huge Plane, Tiny Runway

Orbit rolled fiercely as a gust of wind pushed her hard to port. It was amazing, in a really terrible way; just a couple hours ago she and Thrust had been several thousand feet up in some truly fantastic, sunny weather. Now, she wasn't sure if she remembered what the sun felt like. She blinked hard through the driving sheets of rain, her field of vision only illuminated by the occasional bolt of lightning. She could feel her radar ping off of Thrust, about a mile ahead of her. It was moments like this where she was a bit jealous; if she weighed one-hundred and twenty-five tons and had engines spitting out over a hundred thousand pounds of thrust like it was nothing, this weather might not bother her, either. As it was, his only reaction so far had been, "ooh, look at all this water! Gonna make the runway slippery."

Ya think? She could slap him.

Her radar sent her an alert; she was gaining on Thrust rapidly, and he was swiftly losing altitude. She also noted his sudden change in heading, their almost straight north flight plan having jogged substantially to the west. She double-checked her positioning before dipping just below the cloud layer. Up ahead, she could see Thrust's running lights; he was only a few hundred feet away, and she could see the lightning reflecting off his rain-slick plating. All his flaps were down, and he had already dropped his landing gear. She frowned; Thrust lived on the edge of everything, to the point that sometimes Orbit worried that he would kill himself when he finally overestimated his abilities. He did not do caution well. So why he would be flying so low for an airport that was still a hundred miles out was beyond her.

"Thrust, pull up. You are dangerously close to the ground." Over neighborhoods, too. She wondered if they would be receiving another call from the TMST soon.

"I gotta land, babe. Like, right now. Like five minutes ago." His voice sounded a bit strained, like something hurt.

"What's wrong?"

"I think… I think there's something wrong with my starboard engine."

It was at this moment when his number three engine backfired loudly, sparks and flames belching briefly from the exhaust. Orbit heard something that sounded suspiciously like a gasp or a wince, and Thrust lost another hundred feet or so of altitude before restabilizing.

Well, slag.

"What just happened?"

"I don't know. My fan blades aren't turning, and something in the turbines feels like it's grinding on something."

This was just getting better and better.

She could hear his remaining two engines roar as they picked up the slack; she could see the slightly clumsy bearing that came with killing power to an engine. All jets were able to fly using only one of their engines, but that hardly meant that it was comfortable or safe to do so. Thrust was at full power as often as possible. Having to drop a third of his velocity was probably just as frustrating for him as it was painful.

"Orbit, I'm on final approach on one-one-eight-point-niner-zero."

Orbit made the switch. How he'd known the frequency for an airstrip that they had no plans to stop at was beyond her. No matter; Thrust was already in contact with ATC.

"_HWD Tower, this is Skyhigh SH114_."

"_SH114 this is HWD Tower, altimeter one-five-point-eight, go ahead_."

"_I've taken damage to my number three engine, unknown cause. Requesting an emergency landing. Currently to your southeast, flight level twenty_."

"_Roger SH114. Maintain flight level until you have a visual of the runway. Squawk two-four-seven-zero, proceed to runway two-eight left, cleared to land. Maintain speed two-twenty, traffic on your six o'clock, less than a mile, your altitude_."

"_Visual on traffic. This was a flight of two, same flight plan_."

"_Roger. SP67, reduce speed to one-thirty, maintain visual separation_."

"_Roger Tower_." Orbit didn't much see the need to reduce her speed that far; the sheer alacrity that Thrust could reach put her, and many other craft, to shame. Arguing with ATC, though, especially when they were accommodating his emergency landing, tended to be both in bad taste and more trouble than it was worth.

Orbit pulled power as much as she dared and copped a quick look at her speed. One-sixty. Eh, hopefully they wouldn't care. Thrust was square to the runway, about two miles up from her. Even through the rain, his running lights and huge frame were hard to miss. ATC crackled over her radio again.

"_SH114 this is HWD Tower. What is your make?_" They sounded confused a bit, and Orbit could fathom why. Now that Thrust was tuned to their transponders…

"_L-ten-eleven_."

"_Uh, are you sure you can't make it to OAK just a few miles up? That's a bit bigger than we're used to handling here_…" And there it was. Huge plane on a tiny runway. Not a problem that Thrust hadn't encountered many times before, but _definitely_ new when he was down one engine and in the rain.

"_Don't worry, Tower, I'm sure you'll do just fine_." Orbit didn't know if she wanted to hit him or kiss him; making an emergency landing due to engine failure, in the driving rain and high wind, and he still had the manifolds to give ATC a little sass. If he still had an edge to his tongue, he couldn't be in too much pain. Maybe.

"_SH114, it's not us we're worried about_." Thankfully this was a smaller airport, where they clearly let sass slide right over them more often.

"_Too late, I'm making this happen_."

Orbit didn't realize she was holding her breath until she gasped as his landing gear hit the tarmac rather hard. He put his front wheels into the ground as fast as he was able, and she heard both his brakes and his thrust reversers engage. The resident crash tenders were lining the runway as he landed, and made to follow him as he barreled in. Orbit took a deep breath and found herself grinning like an idiot. The lug had made it safely onto the ground, and was clearly feeling fine, considering he was still charging down the runway at a great deal of speed. She dropped her own gear and made to land, worried about catching up to her raucous companion later. Like he was going to be able to limp quickly away from her. Odd though, usually his landings were much noisier than this.

"_HWD Tower, I have a problem._"

No.

"_SH114, does it have anything to do with why you're still doing one-hundred-ten on the runway?_"

No no.

"_How'd ya know? My engine one thrust reversers are not engaging._"

_Fuck._

Excuse her language.

Orbit dropped to the ground as fast as she was able, intent on touching down before the tower could tell her to take another pass around. Up ahead, she could hear Thrust's number two engine scream as he put all available power to it, and she could see the vortex that swirled around his tail as his one remaining reverser did the work of three. His brakes were smoking as he bore down on them, settling his weight into them as he did all he was able to get a grip on the momentum that hurled his bulk down the tarmac. And the rain-slick asphalt was not helping any either.

The ARFFs up ahead were picking up speed, and she could see a whole line of them out in front of Thrust. She realized that they were staging at the end of the runway, the bright red warning lights bright enough to be easily seen from where she was, even in the rain. Thrust was running out of tarmac, and _fast_. Orbit did not bother engaging her own brakes on the ground; she let her engines push her after Thrust. She could smell burning rubber as she went, and her lights illuminated the deep black, fresh tire tracks he was leaving behind him. She drove face first into a thick cloud of smoke, gagging as is cloyed in her mouth and adhered to her intakes. Her speed took her out of it quick enough, and she stopped coughing long enough to kill her engines hard and slam on her own brakes. She was right at Thrust's tail, and he was not moving. She could hear his engine winding down slowly, steam rising from it as the rain struck the hot plating. Even from so far below it, she could feel it radiating against her own hull.

"Thrust!"

"H-hey babe."

She did not really expect the crash tenders to move out of the way for her—they had a job to do, after all—but they did. The ones towards the front were even smiling. Why the hell—

"_HWD Tower, this is SH114. Looks like the adventure is done, and I didn't end up on the lawn._"

Cheering. Lots of cheering, especially from the ground crew gathering around them, and some more from other inbound aircraft who shared a frequency with them.

"_Roger that. Thank your for livening up our day, and scaring years off of our lives. OAK will be sad they missed out on the fun._"

"_I'm sure I can think something up for them on the way back._"

Orbit finally got up to the front of the sizable group of emergency vehicles gathered around the stricken Lockheed. Facing Thrust was a big, grizzled crash tender that wore an expression that hovered somewhere between exhasperation and thoroughly humored, as if he was trying very hard not to smile. Thrust himself had no such issues; he had on the biggest, most painful slag-eating grin she'd ever seen on him.

"Heya, pretty lady."

Orbit could do nothing but sputter.

"Please be kidding."

"Oh, don't be like that. Look, I even stopped in time!"

No fooling. His nose gear was right at the edge of the tarmac. Another foot, and he'd have face-planted into the sodden grass, which likely would have caused him more damage. She looked up at him, glared, opened her mouth, shut it, glared some more, and then just sighed. Thrust beamed at her the entire time.

"I give up."

"Aw, it was all an accident, really!"

"You just… gah, nothing I say is gonna make you take this seriously anyways."

"Hell no. That sounds awful." Typical.

The big crash tender rolled his eyes.

"You guys make this sound like a routine occurrence."

"Nope, this is special, just for you." Thrust sent him a smirk and a wink.

"And we thank you ever so much." Such sarcasm. Many cynicism. Wow.

"Anything else we can do for you while we're here, Captain?"

"Yes. Never land here again. I was inside watching the race, now I'm out in the rain as you try to kill yourself."

Thrust's eyes brightened.

"Ooh, who was winning?" Orbit resisted the urge to hit her face against something very, very hard.

An airport tug hooked up to Thrust's nose gear and began the arduous task of leading him toward the only hangar that might be able to house him. Orbit followed along behind, not yet sure if she was going to smother the cheeky jet in his sleep, or jump his struts out of relief. As they made their way slowly across the airport, Orbit was quickly abandoning both ideas in favor of just heading to sleep. Now that she was free from the grip of her adrenaline, she was exhausted. And cold, and wet. As they approached the very dry, very _warm_ looking hangar, already full of the mechanics who would determine to what extent the TriStar managed to jack himself up, Thrust waggled his tail and sent her a quiet alert on a private frequency. Not so much an alert, per say, as a caress. And maybe an apology.

Yes, she was going to sleep well tonight. Just as soon as she jumped his struts in relief.

* * *

><p>AN:<p>

Done just because. I like these two, they're fun to write.

Words!

HWD/OAK: HWD is the Hayward Executive Airport, OAK is Oakland International Airport. They are very close together, but Oakland is much bigger. Hayward handles smaller local and private planes. From where I go to school, if you stand facing north, you can watch small planes land at Hayward on the right, and huge jet liners and cargo planes land at Oakland on the left. They get low, and it's very cool.

Number Three Engine: Aircraft engine numbers always start from the left. So Thrust's engine one is port, his number two is on his tail, and his number three is starboard.

Thrust reversers: These vary in style and implementation, but they take a plane's thrust from the engines and point it forwards, reducing wear on the brakes and allowing them to stop much sooner than they would normally. If you take a window seat next time you fly, you can see and hear it happening when you land; most of it takes place out of sight under the wing (at least, from a passenger's standpoint), but you can see the engine covers open a bit when they engage.

If you've read my stuff, you know about the typo gnomes already. I'm still in the process of finding them all.


	2. Chapter 2 - Fly

She loved to watch him fly.

Thrust had wide wings and a tall tail and those huge engines that spit out so much _power _that it blew her mind. And if she were close enough, rattled her straight down to her struts, settling in her core in such a way that caused her to run hotter for hours.

Orbit had friends that loved jets, specifically of the fighter variety. They swooned hard for the harshly backswept wings and predator's angles and the roaring flames of the afterburners. These were also the women who loved men who smelled of danger, and any aerial fighter to see combat absolutely reeked of it. Swagger, too, they had lots of swagger. Orbit gladly gave credit where it was due; nothing accelerated, decelerated, turned or rolled like a combat jet, and they could execute maneuvers that would rip the wings straight off other craft. It was certainly exciting to watch, but not anything for her to lose her mind over. Different strokes, she supposed.

Her appreciation of the entire jet type rested firmly on hefty airliners. They were all big, lumbering folk on the ground; it could be argued that the surface world was not made for them, since they were limited by their size in their interaction with other people. Orbit was rather modestly sized for a plane, and even she had issues fitting inside some structures. There were places she'd been that Thrust had never even seen. This often led to the big jets being rather clique-ish, since most of their relationships were with those that lived and worked in the large airstrips that were able to house their massive frames. They were different planes in the air, though. Once they touched off and stored their landing gear, they became confident and graceful, weight class be damned. Everyone of the jet liner lineage was a powerful, stately flier; _nothing _soared like them. Wind currents and weather that grounded other craft were a minor annoyance for their ilk, and as long as they had at least one engine functional they could operate just fine (relatively; landing was another issue entirely). Even with _no_ engines, they could glide like no one else; Orbit had watched Thrust shut his engines off for the fun of it, his wingspan (greater than his own overall length) easily bearing his weight aloft; he kicked them back on only when gravity and air friction began to pull him slowly back to earth.

She wasn't going to touch on his range. Thrust could pick up out of San Francisco and head across the continental US to London, with another seven hundred miles of fuel to spare. If she was truly jealous of anything, it was that.

Something pinged her radar, high above. Three broad white jet trails, at least forty thousand feet up. A trio of liners, in a rather lazy formation, passing her at speeds she could only dream of, well above the point at which her propellers stopped grabbing the thin air. These three were clearly headed in the same direction, since most planes sharing an airspace were content to chat with their neighbors over the frequencies instead of face to face. Large craft, in particular, rarely flew this close together. Few things were more uncomfortable than getting a face full of flaming-hot jet wash from someone else, never mind the turbulence created by your neighbor's wake.

Someone pinged her radio, and her HUD offered up a familiar number for the signal. She grinned and sent a reply, watching one of the craft break off from the other two and fall behind. In a group, he was always easy to spot; he was the one that was never content to fly in a steady, straight line for too long. Her radar blipped again. He was losing altitude at a speed that in anyone else could be described as falling. He liked to call it a dive, which implied much more control than the reckless plummet towards the ground he frequently engaged in. Nose-first or not, this was not a dive. She watched the miles between them fly away, his speed constantly tickling at Mach 1. He'd never quite reach it, but he certainly got an 'A' for effort.

At ten thousand feet from her he began to slow his descent, engines roaring as he goaded his momentum into swinging a wide, easy loop around her. How he managed to end his ballistic, breakneck swoop in such an elegant maneuver blew Orbit's mind. The apex of his turn included a beautiful radial G that could make a flight instructor drool. It was a testament to the strength of his wings; how he succeeded in not snapping off one of those huge turbofans was not worth the headache of puzzling it out.

He pulled up at her side, his wingtip a mere dozen feet over her canopy. He grinned that smarmy, devil-may-care grin at her, practically wiggling from his adrenaline-soaked race towards the ground.

Or maybe he was just impatient with her relatively low speed. It was hard to tell.

She gave a quick glance below her. There was a canyon slowly winding its way through ruddy stone hills, a narrow river lazily cutting across the dry landscape. He wanted speed, huh? Let's see what he had. Waggling her wings to ensure she had his attention, Orbit put power to her engines, dropping swiftly into the gorge below. He fell behind on her radar, but she didn't give it much thought. Thrust could never resist a good-natured race—or a chance to watch his life flash before his eyes—and she fully expected to hear him thundering into the canyon in short order.

* * *

><p>He loved to watch her fly.<p>

Orbit was built lean and sleek, with gracefully tapered wings (complete with those adorable winglets at the end!) and that high, beautiful t-tail. She had such a fine control over what her propellers did that she could turn a lazy, routine flight into a work of art. Her engines also made a deep, smooth purring sound when she threw power into them that Thrust could listen to all day.

Thrust had always had a taste for all flavors of women, but there had forever been a special fondness for turboprop girls. They tended more towards cleverness than bravado, even those that enjoyed brisk, adrenaline-fueled careers (hardly the rule, but the stereotype still held often enough). Although most were more serious than brash, Thrust had long ago observed that a comfortable, happy turboprop would start to show her spunky side, and they _all_ had one. He had discovered several marks on choice parts of his belly after many a rousing night that was a testament to the sheer amounts of freak that could come out. Good times.

Orbit dropped away beneath him (but not before wagging her wings at him in such a way that was so cute he just wanted to bite them), diving into a steep canyon that carved its way below them. Her ailerons flipped _just so_, merely enough to send her pitching the direction she wanted to go. She made him feel like such a bumbling, clumsy oaf; slower than him, yeah, but she could execute turns that he couldn't even fathom doing with any degree of success. Any rolls she made were slow, tight, controlled, and she made it look damned easy. Thrust had always thought that she could race. She might be a bit towards the larger end of that class of plane, but she had the heart for it. She just needed to lighten up and not be so rigid all the time.

Hm, somewhat too strong a word. Cautious, she needed to be less cautious.

Like what was happening right now. He could do with more of this. She was plummeting into the canyon, her wingtips just narrowly inside the riverbank at the bottom. She hugged her belly to the water, her wake creating whirls of spray at her tail. She rolled with the winding river, just _barely_ avoiding scraping a winglet against the smooth rock faces. The river widened briefly, and Orbit pulled up just enough to make a leisurely, deliberate aileron roll, touching her wingtips to the water long enough to drag them for a bit. She made it look as easy at breathing. Which he should do more of right now, if he wished to live a long life.

Once she was right side up again, she shot him a look. Her face fell a bit. What? What did he do? Or not do? Orbit eased off her throttle a bit, and made a face that Thrust would duly describe as a pout, even though she was decades too old to admit any action of the sort. He smirked, causing her to frown in return, giving another, more vigorous, wave of her wings.

Oh. _Oh._ Well, he was just a clumsy oaf, now wasn't he?

Thrust gave the canyon walls only the smallest of consideration before dropping, port wing first, into the gorge. Orbit grinned, pushed more into her engines again, and took off. The lower depths were far too small for him to enter (hardly the width of _one_ of his wings, and no matter what she said, he had no desire to die yet), but the upper edges had just enough space for him to roll and change his bearings. He could see her up ahead, barely, as her tail rounded another turn. Thrust was not going to dissuade her playfulness for the sack of being on time to anywhere. Were people dying? No? Then they could wait. He opened his own throttle and bolted after, regarding his speed as he navigated the stone cliffs. It would be a total mood-killer to snap a wing off out in the wilderness. He wasn't too worried, though.

After all, four hundred seemed a nice, safe pace.

* * *

><p>AN:<p>

More fluffy nonsense. Because that's what they do best.


End file.
